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MODERN  BENEVOLENCE 


^ S A.  T I R E , 


DELIVERED  BEFORE 


UNION  COLLEOE. 


JULY  25th,  1860. 


BY  EGBERT  PHELPS. 


* PUDNEY  & RUSSELL,  PRINTERS, 

No.  79  John  Street, 


1860. 


^'1 

MODERN  BENEYOLENCE : 

A SATIRE. 


Hail,  brothers ! hail ! here  once  again  we  stand 
Where,  years  agone,  we  wandered  hand  in  hand. 
Gay,  thoughtless  boys,  whose  idle,  careless  feet 
Tracked  every  shade  of  Learning’s  hallowed  seat ; 
Where,  unlike  Rachel  of  that  former  day, 

YVho  wept  the  children  that  had  passed  away. 

We,  thankless  youths  ! unmindful  of  our  lot. 
Rejoiced  because  our  President  was  Nott : 

Where  Hickok’s  staff  rang  o’er  each  stony  plain — 
By  Freshmen  styled  old  Union’s  Doctor  Kane ; 
Where,  lest  we  too  old  fogyish  appear, 

A New-man  teaches  Latin  every  year ; 

And,  while  we  learn  each  barbarous  tongue  to  speak, 
A learned  Tayler  mends  our  broken  Greek  : 

Where,  too,  our  valiant  ‘‘  Captain,”  stern  and  wise, 
Leads  our  battalion  through  the  starry  skies  ; 


4 


MODERN  BENEVOLENCE; 


His  long  gray  beard  outstreaming  on  the  air, 

Brighter  to  us  than  Berenice’s  hair. 

(Though  Juniors,  heedless  of  the  honor  due. 

Declared  him  ‘‘  Nott  Professor  No.  2 ;”) 

Where  Prof  Gillespie,  with  rare  learning  stored, 

Builds  ‘‘  Roads  and  Railroads”  out  of  Bristol  hoard ; 
And  where  we  hung  o’er  lessons  long  and  “ tough,” 
E’en  in  mechanics — most  egregious  stuff — 

Foster-ed  till  weary  nature  cried  “ enough  !” 

Where  Seniors  learned  all  sorts  of  forms  to  draw. 
While  Alex.  Thompson  lectured  on  the  law. 

How  culprits  growled  we  never  can  forget. 

Caught  in  the  meshes  of  our  Tutor  Nett.” 

All  these,  and  others,  come  at  memory’s  call — 
Pearson,  Curator”  of  each  classic  hall, 

Prof  P , too,  who  never  taught  at  all. 

And  Peissner,  who,  one  well-rememhered  day. 
Thought  that  we  Seniors  should  have — “ learned  to 
hray.” 

To  one  and  all,  upon  this  festive  day, 

The  Muse  bids  welcome,  and  without  delay 
Will  cease  her  cackling  and  begin  her  lay. 


A SATIRE. 


5 


I sing  a bug — a monstrous,  noisy  thing, 

That  sweeps  o’er  earth  on  wide  extended  wing 
Stinging  the  nations,  while  her  deafening  song 
Cracks  the  weak  brains  of  each  assembled  throng. 
Till,  by  its  luring  numbers  long  beguiled. 

Whole  peoples  rage  in  frenzy  fierce  and  wild. 

And,  quitting  earth,  high  through  the  heavens 
sail. 

Hanging,  entranced,  upon  its  wondrous  tale. 

A hundred  heads  its  hideous  form  disguise, 
Furnished,  like  Argus,  with  a hundred  eyes. 

And  bearing  underneath,  for  greater  speed. 

As  many  crawlers  as  a centipede. 

A curious  monster,  somewhat  like  to  those 
That  suck  life’s  current  from  the  sleeper’s  toes. 

For  this,  though  scorning  such  a paltry  toll. 

Draws  out  the  life-blood  from  the  very  sole  : 

And,  like  those  beetles  that  at  twilight  come, 

A big,  black  bug,  preceded  by  a hum. 

Hail,  glorious  Humbug  ! potent  ruler  thou, 

Before  whose  sceptre  kings  and  princes  bow  ! 


6 


MODERN  BENEVOLENCE: 


Whose  lordly  empire  o’er  the  human  soul 
Stretches  unlimited  from  poll  to  poll ; 

Who  tossest  upward,  in  thy  sportive  might, 

Fools,  knaves,  and  madmen,  to  the  giddy  height 
They  ne’er  had  climbed  save  for  thy  ready  power. 
Where  they  shall  cling  hut  for  a fleeting  hour. 

Then  tumble  headlong  downward  to  give  place 
To  other  brawlers  of  the  self-same  race. 

Still  dost  thou  bid  each  spinster  to  invade 
The  cool  Parnassus  and  the  classic  shade ! 

Or  kitchen  damsels,  humbler  duties  spurning. 

To  burn  their  biscuits  while  they  air  their  learning 
Or,  armed  with  ready  pen  or  readier  tongs. 

Burning  with  zeal  for  woman’s  rights — and  wrongs. 
With  hands  from  making  pie- crust  scarcely  dry, 

Essay  to  knock  our  upper-crust”  to  pi ! 

The  while  old  women,  for  their  country’s  weal. 
Harangue  their  gossips  from  the  spinning  wheel. 
Obedient  ever  to  thy  high  commands. 

Spinning  long  yarns  with  tongues  as  well  as  hands  ! 
Still  dost  thou  dub  each  beardless  boy  a thinker. 

And  make  a preacher  of  a tramping  tinker  ! 


A SATIRE. 


7 


Make  cobblers  spout  with  patriotic  blast, 

And  us  to  wish  their  theme  might  be  their  last  ! 
Turn  Yankee  pedlars  to  enthusiasts, 

And  image  venders  to  iconoclasts  ! 

Vain  every  effort  of  the  rebel  sage 
Successful  war  against  thy  power  to  wage  ; 

For,  like  that  fabled  bird  of  ancient  times, 

Whose  fame  still  lingers  in  the  poet’s  rhymes, 

Up  from  thine  ashes  thou  dost  proudly  spring. 
And  mount  still  higher  on  a fleeter  wing. 

But  if,  perchance,  some  regicide  endeavor 
Prevail  to  quench  thy  monarch  life  forever. 

As  armed  men,  on  old  Boeotia’s  shore. 

Sprang  from  the  teeth  by  Cadmus  sown  of  yore. 
So  each  dead  humbug  breeds  a thousand  more. 

In  former  times  old  Home,  as  we  are  told. 

Shone  out  triumphant  in  her  age  of  gold. 

Then  saw  the  silver  age  the  brass  environ, 

And,  last  of  all,  the  gloomy  age  of  iron. 

We,  livers  in  this  latter  day  sublime. 

Have  changed  the  order  of  the  olden  time ; 


8 


MODERN  BENEVOLENCE: 


WeVe  passed  our  iron  age,  and  now,  behold  ! 

Our  age  of  brass  : more  than  the  purest  gold 
Brass  rules  the  market,  shines  in  every  place. 

But,  most  of  all,  in  young  Columbia’s  face. 
Doctors  and  lawyers,  politicians  too. 

Preachers  and  poets,  wear  the  brazen  hue. 

Now  fools  and  idiots,  girls  and  country  swains. 
Boasting,  perhaps,  a thimbleful  of  brains. 

May  o’er  life’s  raging  torrents  safely  pass, 

And  mount  to  glory  on  a bridge  of  brass. 

First  of  the  towering  humbugs  that  engage 
The  rapt  attention  of  this  brazen  age. 

Is  its  Benevolence ; not  such  as  starts 
In  full  outpourings  from  the  noblest  hearts. 
Seeking,  with  noiseless  stream,  each  silent  shade. 
Watering  the  humbler  flowerets  of  the  glade  ; 

But  such  as  moves  with  pompous  self-laudations. 
Seeking  the  gaze  of  earth’s  assembled  nations^ 
Wide  mouthed  and  boisterous,  loaded  with  pre- 
tence, 

Demanding  dollars,  but  denying  sense. 


A SATIRE. 


9 


The  Muse,  indignant  at  the  monster’s  guile, 

Would  claim  your  earnest,  patient  hearing,  while 
She  paints,  in  colors  that  a child  may  see. 

Some  of  the  schemes  of  our  philanthropy. 

How  many  a Dives,  longing  for  the  fame 
That  clusters  proudly  round  the  Giver’s  name. 
Thinks  to  atone  for  his  unholy  thrift. 

And  buy  God’s  pardon  with  a death-hed  gift  : 

And  as,  through  life,  unheeding  pity’s  prayers. 

He  robbed  all  others,  now  he  robs  his  heirs  ; 

The  gold  he’d  carry  with  him  if  he  could. 

He  scatters  freely  for  his  country’s  good. 

And  founds  a hospital  where  all  may  find 
Relief  from  every  ill  save  those  of  mind  ; 

The  world  applauds,  and  o’er  his  crumbling  hones 
Rears  a huge  pile  of  monumental  stones. 

But,  with  the  nodding  flowers  that  o’er  him  wave, 
A fierce,  hot  lawsuit  springs  from  out  his  grave  ; 
Food  for  the  lawyers,  who  must  have,  you  know. 
In  all  their  toil,  a glorious  quid  pro  quo — 

A quid  the  greater  from  its  long  pursuing. 

That  only  grows  the  tougher  for  the  chewing ; 


10 


MODERN  BENEVOLENCE: 


Such  rich  bequests  each  eager  brother-in-law 
Takes  from  dead  hands  to  be  consumed  in  ‘‘jaw.” 
Thus  in  contention  many  years  are  spent, 

And  half  the  money,  which  was  never  meant, 

By  rents  obtained,  to  be  so  sorely  rent ; 

And  when  no  more  of  treasure  can  be  spilt. 

The  case  is  settled  and  the  house  is  built. 

Which  soon  becomes  a very  safe  retreat, 

“ Where  few  shall  part  and  many  [doctors] 
meet 

Where  crowds  of  followers  of  the  healing  art. 

By  “ applications”  make  the  sick  men  smart. 
Whose  fame,  like  great  Napoleon’s,  is  the  louder. 
Just  in  proportion  as  they  deal  in  powder ; 

Whose  lives  in  deeds  of  charity  are  spent, 
Smiling  “ like  Patience  on  a monument 
Meanwhile  they  go,  among  earth’s  sad  relations, 
Through  life  erecting  monuments  to  patients ; 

(An  apt  idea,  by  the  critic’s  leave. 

Nor  plagiaristic,  as  you’ll  soon  perceive  ; 

Sir  Walter’s  Patience  on  the  tombstone  breathes. 
The  doctor’s  patients  slumber  underneath ; 


A SATIRE. 


11 


So  let  no  critic,  with  a dire  intent, 

Essay  to  punish,  for  no  pun-ish-meant.) 

Time  passes  by ; with  each  revolving  year 
New  topics  hold  the  greedy  public’s  ear, 

When,  some  bright  morning,  in  a voice  of  thunder, 
Grim  Eumor  spreads  a new  and  startling  wonder : 
“ Last  night,”  she  says,  unguarded  by  the  cats, 

A new-born  babe  was  eaten  by  the  rats 
In  that  same  hospital  we  lately  lauded. 

And  its  dead  founder’s  charity  applauded.” 

Now  here’s  a godsend  for  the  item”  makers — 

A golden  harvest  for  the  city  papers ! 

Knights  of  the  quill  soon  hovering  thereabout. 

The  luckless  hospital’s  turned  inside  out. 

And  there  ’tis  found  that,  while  the  patients  sink 
Down  to  the  grave,  or  linger  on  the  brink, 

The  rats  and  doctors  quarrel  for  the  prey 
So  fierce,  ’twere  more  than  difficult  to  say 
Which  of  the  twain  most  ravenous  appear. 

Or  least  conducive  to  the  sick  man’s  cheer  ; 

For  if  the  patient  ’scapes  the  deadly  cup 
The  doctor  gives,  the  rats  will  eat  him  up. 


12 


MODERN  BENEVOLENCE: 


This  is  Benevolence ! indeed  it  seems 
The  rich  fruition  of  the  donor’s  dreams  ; 

Our  streets  are  crowded  e’en  to  suffocation  ; 

W e need  an  outlet  for  our  population  ; 

So  here’s  a safe  establishment  indeed 
To  reach  that  end,  the  very  thing  we  need 
To  hamper  life’s  accelerating  pace, 

And  check  the  propagation  of  the  race. 

Ah,  gracious  Heaven ! in  our  need  befriend  us. 
And  from  such  hospitality  defend  us ! 

Would  that  the  man  who  thus  bequeaths  his 
pelf, 

Could  oversee  his  charity  himself. 

Or  by  a timely  codicil  provide 
Guardians  to  see  the  money  well  applied. 

To  guard  against  all  outward,  deadly  ills. 

Quacks,  rats,  experiments,  and  patent  pills. 

A word,  in  passing,  to  the  mystic  crew 
Who  rule  the  destinies  of  old  Bellevue : 

Drop  from  your  list,  as  quickly  as  you  can. 

Doctor  Pill- garlic  and  some  half  his  clan. 


A SATIRE. 


13 


And  place  thereon,  to  keep  the  number  pat, 

That  best  physician.  Doctor  Maltese  Cat — 

Or  Doctor  Terrier — ’tis  no  great  matter 
Which  of  the  twain,  if  only  a good  ratter. 

Lo ! here  comes  tripping,  with  a modish  air, 

A score  of  damsels  from  the  Fancy  Fair, 

Tricked  out  in  garniture  of  tricks  and  wiles. 

Gay,  smiling  witches,  with  bewitching  smiles. 

All  hail  the  Fair ! where  maids,  with  gorgeous 
shows. 

Assault  the  hearts  and  pockets  of  the  beaux, 

While,  like  that  famous  Robin  Hood  of  yore. 

They  strip  the  rich  to  clothe  the  suffering  poor  ; 

For,  while  they  leave  the  seamstress  in  the  lurch, 
And  take  to  trading  for  some  needy  church — 
Belles  ringing  changes  on  the  spirit’s  dues. 

To  buy  a bell  or  tap  the  parson’s  shoes — 

Trade  and  Salvation  are  together  spliced. 

To  make  a huckster  of  the  Church  of  Christ. 

If  “ time  is  money,”  as  the  bards  declare, 

A heap  of  money’s  spent  upon  the  Fair, 


14 


MODERN  BENEVOLENCE; 


For  many  a week  each  ardent  maid  employs 
In  making  gimcracks,  pinafores,  and  toys, 

By  day  in  preparation  takes  delight. 

And  trades  her  kickshaws  and  her  smiles  by 
night ; 

While  we  rejoice  to  make  our  virtue  known. 

And  kill  two  birds  with  one  convenient  stone. 
Since  here  we  may,  by  one  expenditure. 

Buy  what  we  need,  and  help  the  starving  poor ; 

To  aid  the  needy  we  are  seen  of  men. 

And  get  our  money’s  value  back  again. 

Such  is  the  theory,  from  which,  ’tis  true. 

The  practice  differs,  as  all  others  do ; 

For,  while  ’tis  rare  benevolence  indeed 
To  buy  the  trinkets  that  we  do  not  need, 

’Tis  greater  still  to  pay,  without  a sigh. 

Ten  times  the  value  of  each  toy  we  buy  ; 

And  hence  the  censor  Muse  must  needs  declare 
These  Fancy  Fairs,  to  say  the  least,  unfair. 

Here  let  me  pause  a moment  to  rehearse. 

In  sportive  numbers  of  satiric  verse. 


A SATIRE. 


15 


The  wondrous  changes  which  these  Fancy  Fairs 
Produce  in  youths  and  maidens  unawares, 
Changing  fell  hatred,  by  its  magic  power. 

To  the  confiding  friendship  of  an  hour. 

And,  by  some  necromantic  means  or  other, . 
Changing  small  change  from  one  purse  to  another, 
Changing  the  state  of  coins,  and  pockets  too. 

From  high  denominations  down  to  low. 

While  Love  acquires,  with  devious  length  of  tale, 
A scaly  sliding  down  a sliding  scale. 

Some  charming  youth,  attending  such  a mart. 
Meets  at  the  door  the  idol  of  his  heart. 

Who,  though  he  fain  would  tender  heart  and 
limb. 

Is  very  far  from  tender  towards  him  ; 

But  now,  all  smiles  and  condescending  grace, 

She  beams  upon  him  with  her  fair-y  face. 

And,  scolding  somewhat  at  the  stupid  folks. 

Who  must  be  always  cracking  musty  jokes. 
Which,  like  their  purses,  are  extremely  dry. 
Scentless  and  empty,  for  they  never  buy. 


16 


MODERN  BENEVOLENCE: 


She  takes  his  arm  and  leads  him  through  the  din, 
To  her  own  stall,  and  slyly  takes  him  in.” 

Stalled  like  an  ox,  in  unsuspecting  glee 
He  pays  ten  dollars  for  what  cost  but  three. 

To  make  no  mention  of  a custom  strange 
The  girls  acquire  of  never  making  change. 

Ere  of  his  purchase  he  has  time  to  boast,  ^ 

A smiling  damsel,  hailing  from  the  ‘‘  Post,” 
Displays  a missive  to  his  curious  eyes ; 

He  pays  one  dollar  and  secures  the  prize. 

Which,  quickly  opened,  to  his  great  amaze 
A strange  conglomeration  meets  his  gaze  : 

‘‘  Line  upon  line,  precept  upon  precept,” 

While  here  and  there  a little”  sense  has  crept, 
Though  traced  in  characters  extremely  small — 
The  letter  has  no  character  at  all : 

Lo  ! in  what  light  its  lucubrations  shine  ! 

Here’s  love-lorn  nonsense,  twenty  cents  per  line ; 
Enough,  he  swears,  by  all  the  powers  above. 

To  make  a love-sick  school-boy  sick  of  love. 

“ Zounds  !”  cries  our  hero,  loath  such  stuff  to  read, 
‘‘  This  faiiy  Post ’s  a stupid  post  indeed  ! 


A SATIRE. 


17 


In  this  essay  my  fortune  is  no  better, 

The  maid  has  sold  me  cheaper  than  the  letter ; 

Such  literature  as  meets  my  eager  sight, 

By  school-boy  sages  ne’er  was  styled  ‘polite,’ 

Nor  yet,  within  the  range  of  earthly  knowledge, 

Were  such  belles’  lettres  ever  read  in  college.” 

Now  lost  in  thought,  downcast  and  sorrow-laden. 

Again  he’s  waylaid  by  a bright-eyed  maiden. 

Armed  with  a bag,  in  whose  recesses  sleep 

Of  toys  and  trinkets  a promiscuous  heap  ; 

A lottery,  not  forbidden  by  the  law. 

Terms — like  a dentist's — fifty  cents  a draw. 

Though  from  his  former  losses  still  quite  sore. 

Our  friend  essays  to  try  his  hand  once  more. 

Throws  down  his  “ tin,”  with  gesture  somewhat  warm. 

And  gets  it  back,  but  in  a different  form  ; 

Plunging  his  hand  the  wondrous  bag  within, 

Lo  ! he  draws  forth  a trumpet  made  of  tin. 

To  try  again  he  cannot  well  refuse — 

His  touch,  like  mine,  provokes  some  feeble  Mews, 

For  from  the  pouch  ascends  a plaintive  strain, 

A smothered  caterwaul  of  rage  and  pain  : 

2 


18 


MODEKN  BENEVOLENCE: 


Resolved  at  once  the  mystery  to  unfold, 

He  brings  to  light — a kitten,  three  days  old  ! 

‘^The  game  is  out!”  exclaims  the  bashful  wag, 

“ The  girls  have  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag.” 

“ Alas  !”  he  adds,  ‘‘  what  cheats  these  women 
are. 

In  every  science,  from  love  up  to  war ! 

If  thus,  when  single,  they  deplete  one’s  purse. 
Wedding  they’ll  cheat  their  husbands  even  worse. 
Such  dear  possessions  may  I never  buy, 

For,  bless  me  !•  how  they  make  the  money  fly ; 

In  money  matters  they’re  so  cute  and  funny  ; 

They’ll  never  cheat  me  into  matrimony.” 

The  sad  result  can  easily  be  shown — 

Love  topples  downward  from  his  airy  throne  ; 

Our  friend  remains  a bachelor  for  life. 

And  sweet  Miss  Kitty  is  a cobbler’s  wife. 

Scenes  such  as  these,  if  there  were  time  to  write  ’em, 
The  muse  might  multiply  ad  infinitum  : 

Enough  to  say,  that  he  wdio  fain  would  mend 
The  people’s  morals,  and  the  poor  befriend, 


A SATIRE. 


19 


Has  climbed  the  height  of  charitable  bliss, 

If  he  can  fancy  such  a Fair  as  this. 

Now  hither  come,  with  boldly  stamping  heel, 
The  earnest  strivers  for  the  negro’s  weal. 

Now  must  my  muse,  both  cautious  and  discreet. 
Tread  lightly  here,  with  softly  slippered  feet, 
Lest,  if  too  careless  on  her  march  she  goes, 

She  haply  tread  on  some  enthusiast’s  toes, 

And  thus,  unlike  the  farmers  and  the  Shakers, 
Who  turn,  for  benefit  of  brooms  and  bakers. 
Acres  to  corn,  she  turn  his  corns  to  achers. 

One  inconsistency  we  notice  here — 

The  loud  declaimers  are  the  least  sincere  ! 

Some  famous  author,  who  has  spent  his  life. 
And  won  his  glory  in  this  dusky  strife. 

When  the  poor  slave  that  managed  to  evade 
A life  of  bondage,  calls  to  him  for  aid 
To  loose  the  bonds  of  slavery  that  bind 
The  wife  and  children  he  has  left  behind. 

False  to  his  colors,  to  the  masthead  nailed,. 

On  this  dilemma’s  either  horn  impaled, 


20 


MODERN  BENEVOLENCE: 


Slips  through  the  horn,  out  at  its  smallest  vent, 
Gives  his  best  \vords,  hut  not  a single  cent ! 

I would  not  blame  the  workers  who  essay 
The  blot  of  slavery  to  wipe  away, 

But  fain  would  ask  each  ardent  devotee 
How  do  we  treat  the  negroes  that  are  free  ? 

Our  schools,  like  artists,  with  a hand  exact. 
Draw  a nice  line  between  the  white  and  black 
In  coach  or  car,  whene’er  the  negroes  ride, 

We  don’t  ohject^if  they  remain  outside  ; 

Even  God’s  altar  knows  the  dusky  hue. 

For  all  our  churches  have  their  negro  pew — 
And  once  a month  poor  Ethiop’s  sable  son 
Eats  at  God’s  table — when  the  rest  have  done  ! 

Some  blooming  Flora,  in  her  parlor  nook, 

Sits  quite  absorbed  in  Mrs.  Stowe’s  famed  hook, 
Glowing  with  sympathy  for  Sambo’s  woes. 

While  briny  tear-drops  trickle  down  her  nose  ; 

A servant  enters — Madam,  there’s  a poor 
Old  negro  begging  at  the  kitchen  door — 


A SATIRE. 


21 


A slave,  escaping  from  the  master’s  whip, 

Seeking  assistance  for  his  northern  trip.” 

Flora  looks  upward,  in  extreme  surprise  : 

John,  I’m  astonished  ! have  you  lost  your  eyes  ?” 
“ Beg  pardon,  ma’am,”  poor  John  essays  to  say — 
She  interrupts  him — Send  the  man  away ! 

I’ve  had  enough  of  such  impostors’  pleading ; 
Besides,  such  business  interrupts  my  reading !” 

He  goes,  and  she  resumes  her  occupation, 

Right  soon  forgetting  all  her  late  vexation ; 

Poor  “Uncle  Tom,”  down-trodden  and  oppressed, 
Guides  the  emotion  of  her  heaving  breast ; 

Again  the  fountain’s  crystal  rheum  appears — 

She  blots  the  page  with  sympathetic  tears  : 

Anon  the  cup  of  grief — a brimming  one — 

Turns  topsy-turvy  with  poor  Topsey’s  fun, 

And  she,  forgetting  all  her  former  pain, 

Laughs  at  her  sallies  till  she  cries  again. 

Enter  the  servant,  with  submissive  look  : 

“ Madam,  I know  you’re  searching  for  a cook ; 
There’s  one  below,  of  most  undoubted  worth, 

And,  if  you’re  willing,  she  desires  the  berth.” 


22 


MODERN  BENEVOLENCE: 


“ Good  she  exclaims,  and  starting  up  in  haste, 
The  darling  book  is  from  her  lap  displaced  ; 

Poor  “ Uncle  Tom’s”  last  downfall  is  complete, 

Once  more  downtrodden”  by  her  fairy  feet. 

Like  a police  judge,  in  her  glad  surprise,  - 
‘‘  Send  her  up,  John,”  the  eager  matron  cries ; 

“ But  stop  !”  she  adds,  with  gesture  hesitative, 

‘‘  John,  is  the  woman  foreigner  or  native  ?” 

“ A negress,  ma’am.”  “Ah  ! that’s  a different  case. 
And  on  the  question  puts  a darker  face  : 

In  summer  days  we  want  no  woolly  stuff, 

And  as  for  colored  help — I’ve  had  enough, 

For,  from  my  larder,  I can  plainly  see, 

They  ‘ help’  themselves  far  oftener  than  me : 
They’re  always  lazy,  false,  and  insincere, 

And  sure  to  lie — inclining  to  the  beer ; 

So  send  her  off ! I do  not  care  to  see  her.’* 

So  with  us  all ; our  charities  appear 
In  lustre  dim,  or  radiantly  clear — 

More  or  less  worthy  of  our  prompt  assistance. 

In  nice  proportion  to  the  object’s  distance  ; 


A SATIRE. 


While  in  our  streets  the  homeless  wanderers  perish, 
Each  distant  charity  we  fondly  cherish, 

Ever  forgetting,  as  afar  we  roam, 

The  truth  that  Charity  begins  at  home.” 

That  which  in  theory  we  laud  and  sing, 

We  find,  in  practice,  quite  another  thing. 

How  varied,  too,  man’s  ever-restless  mind. 

And  full  of  currents  as  the  wintry  wind ! 

We  think  the  negroes  at  the  South  oppressed. 

While  their  own  masters  think  them  doubly  blessed 
They  think  our  negroes  cursed  beyond  expressing — 
We  think  them  rich  in  freedom’s  choicest  blessing: 
Poor  Afric’s  son  our  sympathy  may  crave 
Only  so  long  as  he  remains  a slave. 

Ere  at  another’s  faults  we  cast  a stone. 

Stern  Justice  prompts  us  to  amend  our  own  ; 

First  to  her  counsels  let  us  lend  an  ear. 

And  do  our  duty  by  the  negro  here — 

Unbar  the  doors  to  honor,  fame,  and  wealth. 

Lift  him  to  comfort  and  to  social  health  ; 

So  shall  we  see  more  clearly  to  espy 

And  pluck  the  mote  from  out  our  brother’s  eye. 


24 


MODERN  BENEVOLENCE; 


Some  schemes  there  are,  of  noble,  high  intent. 

Spoiled  ere  they  reach  their  full  accomplishment. 

And  means  devoted  to  a pious  use 
Are  ofttimes  squandered  by  a rank  abuse, 

Or  turned  from  paths  their  influence  might  bless 
To  other  channels  of  less  usefulness. 

Here  pause,  and  view  our  nation’s  cherished  dream — 
The  famous  Foreign  Missionary  scheme. 

Some  worthy  people,  shuddering  at  the  sight 
Of  Pagan  rites,  would  set  the  Pagan  right. 

And,  having  first  collected — if  they  can — 

A hundred  thousand  dollars  for  their  plan, 

Pay  twenty  thousand,  without  hesitation. 

To  fit  young  teachers  for  their  new  vocation  ; 

And  then  outlay  another  fifth,  or  more. 

To  pay  their  passage  to  the  foreign  shore : 

There,  while  they  learn  the  native  tongue  to  speak, 
The  strong  at  home  must  suffer,  by  the  week, 

For  twenty  thousand  of  their  cherished  hoard 
The  Board  at  home  pays  for  their  foreign  board  : 
Another  fifth  then  quickly  disappears. 

Meanwhile  the  parson  schools  and  churches  rears : 


A SATIRE. 


25 


So,  if  no  gain  their  sinking  fund  enlarges, 

A paltry  fifth  is  spent  for  “ gospel  charges” — • 

Charges  as  rash  as  that  at  which  earth  wondered, 

At  Balaklava,  by  the  brave  six  hundred. 

How  true  the  ancient  saying,  that  Romance,” 

That  school-boy  failing,  ‘‘rules  the  world — and  France  !” 
How  many  a parson  in  our  midst  we  find 
Useful,  indeed,  but  discontented,  blind 
To  the  position  by  his  God  assigned  ! 

Despairing,  living,  of  an  honored  name. 

They  seek  in  martyrdom  a deathless  fame. 

Hence,  if  some  land  unwonted  perils  yield, 

A crowd  of  laborers”  seeks  that  very  field. 

Some  pious  youth,  fresh  from  the  walls  of  college, 
With  pecks  of  bombast  to  a pint  of  knowledge, 

Who  erst  has  learned,  with  glowing  fever  vext, 

To  pound  a bible,  and  ex-pound  a text, 

Contemning  dancing  in  the  public  hall. 

But  ever  ready  for  a pulpit  bawl. 

Essays  to  teach  the  heathen,  over  sea. 

Who  may,  perchance,  be  wiser  far  than  he. 


26 


MODERN  BENEVOLENCE: 


He  seeks  the  Board,  and  makes  his  wishes  known 
To  plant  ideas  in  the  torrid  zone. 

Aye,”  cries  the  clerk,  “ you’ve  happened  just  in  time ; 
We  need  new  teachers  in  that  plague-y  clime ; 

We’ve  heard  from  Turkey  hut  this  very  minute — 

The  field  is  vacant — shall  we  put  you  in  it  ?” 

“ Nay,”  says  our  friend,  “the  peril  isn’t  great ; 

The  Sultan’s  far  too  tolerant  of  late!” 
u Persia,  then.”  “ I’ll  harbor  no  such  plan, 

There’s  little  spirit  in  that  empty  Khan ; 

More  and  more  timid  he  has  lately  grown, 

And  leaves  the  parsons  and  their  wiv^s  alone.” 

“ Then  here’s  the  nicest  berth  you  ever  saw — 

We’ll  send  you  off  to  Borrio-boolah-gah !” 

“ Nay,”  he  exclaims,  “ I beg  you  will  not  think 
I mean  to  write  my  fame  in  India  ink ! 

Besides,  by  late  arrivals  thence,  I see 
There’s  far  too  little  danger  there  for  me.” 

“ Then  go  and  teach  those  Ethiopic  sinners 
Who  lately  ate  ten  teachers  for  their  dinners. 

Then,  at  their  leisure,  rolling  in  the  dirt, 

Swallowed  the  parson’s  babies  for  dessert !” 


A SATIRE. 


27 


“ Good ! that’s  the  place ! no  further  care  I’ll  bor- 
row ; 

God  calls  me  thither,  and  I’ll  go  to-morrow  !” 

So,  while  all  martyrdoms  they  rashly  flout, 

The  safer  missions  quietly  die  out ; 

The  field  of  Greece  yields  to  more  greasy  ones. 

The  Turkey  mission  gobbles  no  more  funds. 

’Tis  said  that  once,  upon  a wintry  day, 

A hard-shell  preacher,  in  the  hard-shelled  way. 
Beneath  the  waters  of  a fopiming  rill 
Dipped  willing  converts  of  his  own  “^Free  Will,” 
When  one  unlucky  maiden,  in  a trice, 

Slipped  from  his  grasp  and  slid  beneath  the  ice. 

The  preacher  stared,  then  shouted  to  a brother — 

The  Lord’s  got  her,  quick,  let  us  have  another 
So,  when  our  hero,  sent  to  fill  the  souls 
Of  hungry  natives,  fills  their  wooden  bowls, 

Graces  their  tables  in  a smoking  stew. 

Food  for  their  spirits — and  their  bodies,  too — 

Or  when  he  feeds,  through  some  unseen  mischance, 
Their  big  black  uncles  or  their  big  white  ants. 


28 


MODERN  BENEVOLENCE: 


The  Board  at  home  cries  out,  “ His  work  is  done ; 
The  Lord ’s  got  him ; let’s  have  another  one  1” 

Mistaken  souls ! through  gazing  far  away 
Our  eyes  are  blinded  to  the  nearer  ray 
That  softly  shines,  through  all  our  earnest  strife, 
From  humbler  duties  of  our  daily  life  ; 

And  while  each  eager,  charitable  ear, 

Strains  to  the  music  of  some  distant  sphere, 

We  catch  no  echo  from  the  strain  of  woe 
That  floats  from  suffering  mortals  here  below. 

Are  there  no  sorrows  in  our  native  land 
To  wake  our  pity,  and  our  aid  command  ? 

Is  there  no  work  for  every  hand  to  do 
Humbler  than  these,  more  Christian-like  and 
true  ? 

Not  mine  the  heart  a noble  task  ‘'o  chide. 

Or  patient,  earnest  workers,  to  deride. 

“ Go,  preach  My  gospel  in  each  foreign  land. 

And  teach  all  nations,”  was  our  Lord’s  command ; 
He  never  bade  us  make  the  gospel  known 
To  foreign  heathen,  and  neglect  our  own. 


A SATIRE. 


29 


Let  wealthier  nations  carry  on  the  work, 

Convert  the  Jew,  and  Christianize  the  Turk  ; 
France,  Spain,  and  Germany,  and  England,  too, 
Crowded  with  priests,  whoVe  nothing  else  to  do. 
Rolling  in  wealth,  are  able,  if  they  will, 

To*  send  the  teachers  and  to  pay  the  hill ; 

But  we  in  search  of  duty  need  not  roam, 

’Tis  very  plain  our  mission  lies — at  home, 

Where  crime  runs  riot  in  each  public  place. 

And  vacant  pulpits  stare  us  in  the  face. 

Descend,  ye  dreamers,  from  your  cloud-capped 
domes, 

To  battle  evil  in  our  streets  and  homes ! 

We’ve  heathen  here,  more  savage  far  than  those 
Who  pierce  our  hearts  with  sympathetic  throes  : 
Those  take  a part,  but  these  consume  the  whole ; 
Those  eat  the  body,  these  devour  the  soul. 

These  let  us  teach,  while  yet  we  have  the  power, 
Seeking  to  grave  upon  each  passing  hour 
Some  golden  record  of  a duty  done. 

Of  sorrows  cheered,  and  souls  from  ruin  won. 


30 


MODERN  BENEVOLENCE: 


Consistent  Christians  of  this  latter  day, 

The  wars  of  Pagans  fill  us  with  dismay  ! 

We  at  their  bloody  deeds  in  horror  start, 

And  send  disciples  of  “ the  manly  art” 

To  prove  that  Brother  Jonathan  is  full 
As  much  a bully  as  his  friend,  John  Bull ! 

In  that  enlightened  land  beyond  the  sea. 

In  this,  our  boasted,  glorious  century. 

While  other  Christians  cheer  the  savage  sport, 

Two  earnest  Christians  to  the  ring  resort. 

There  tug  and  battle  through  some  fifty  rounds, 
Pounding  God’s  image  for  a thousand  pounds  ; 
Keeping,  while  struggling  for  the  champion’s 
crown,  < 

Their  spirits  up,  by  pouring  spirits  down. 

And  these  are  men  of  doctrine  orthodox  ! 

Pupils  of  Calvin,  countrymen  of  Fox, 

And  eke  disciples  of  good,  sturdy  Knox. 

And  if,  perchance,  our  champion  beat  the  Celt, 

We  duh  him  hero — when  he  gets  the  belt ; 

Each  Yankee  hard  his  well-earned  glory  sings. 

And  shouts  his  praises  till  the  welkin  rings ; 


A SATIRE, 


31 


While  he,  insensible  to  foolish  shame, 

Retires  content  with  his  Bull-hateing  fame. 

Were  half  the  sums  we  squander  every  year 
Applied  to  teach  our  barbarous  heathen  here. 

And  half  the  parsons  we  have  taught  to  roam 
Called  from  the  field  to  fill  the  field  at  home. 

Then  might  we  hope  to  check  the  march  of  crime, 
And  gild  some  feathers  in  the  wings  of  Time — 

To  write  “Reform”  upon  our  country’s  banners. 
Convert  Tom  Sayers  and  teach  J ohn  Heenan  manners. 
So  when  at  last,  by  humble,  patient  labor. 

We’ve  done  our  duty  by  our  next-door  neighbor, 

Then  will  we  join,  with  eager  hearts  and  hands, 

To  help  the  natives  in  those  distant  lands  : 

So  when  our  pulpits  here  are  all  supplied. 

And  duty’s  earnest  calls  are  satisfied. 

When  minus  thieves,  and  plus  of  holy  men, 

Let’s  send  the  sur-plus  off,  but  not  till  then. 

Already  wearied  with  her  cumbrous  song, 

It  irks  the  Muse  her  censure  to  prolong, 


32 


MODERN  BENEVOLENCE: 


Yet  must  she  notice,  ere  she  close  the  strain, 

Last  but  not  least,  the  Liquor  Law  of  Maine. 

In  olden  times  each  jolly  country  squire, 

With  pipe  and  tankard,  at  the  tap-room  fire. 
Fearing  no  law,  might  entertain  his  fellow. 

And,  like  his  apples,  grow  exceeding  mellow. 

Now  we’ve  a legal  chain,  whose  every  link 
Sternly  prescribes  what  man  may  eat  and  drink. 
Loudly  declaring,  in  an  angry  tone, 

That  which  thou  huyest  is  not  all  thine  own  !” 

By  moral  suasion  we’re  no  longer  led. 

The  law  of  morals  governs  us  instead. 

Suppose  some  aged  veteran  from  the  wars, 

Minus  a leg,  and  covered  o’er  with  scars, 

With  flowery  nose,  cheeks  like  two  whiskey 
butts, 

4 

And,  like  some  story  book,  adorned  with  cuts, 
Driven  to  madness  by  domestic  strife, 

And  fierce  philippics  from  a scolding  wife. 

Unable  longer  with  the  jade  to  bicker. 

Takes  to  his  arms  and  thinks  it  best  to  lick  ’er, 


33: 


■ ■ ' A-  SATIRE, ‘ 

Pours  brandy  down  until  he  makes  her  sick, 

And  beats  her  soundly  with  a liquor-ish  stick. 

In  steps  the  law,  with  magisterial  frown, 

Taking  both  up  to  put  the  liquor  down. 

Zounds !”  cries  the  sage,  “what  curious  days’ are. 

# 

these. 

When  man  and  wife  can’t  quarrel  if  they  please ! 

Man  of  creation  is  no  longer  king. 

Slung  to  destruction  by  a whiskey  sling: 

‘ Total  depravity’  consists  in  gin, 

And  brandy  smashes  are  a smashing  sin  P’ 

Much  good  results,  beyond  the  Muse’s  doubt, 

From  laws  like  these,  if  wisely  carried  out ; 

Vice  basks  no  longer  in  the  garish  light,  ; - . 

Rum-drinking,  too,  is  driven  out  of  sight ; ' ’ 

In  low,,  damp  cellars,  free  from  all  restraint 

Of  public  gaze,  or  scowl  of  private  saint,  . 1 

Gay  sons  of  Bacchus  revel  all  the  more,  . . 

And'  men  get  drunk  who  never  did  before. 

(Though  liquor-sellers,  in  their  anger  wild. 

Who  never  yet  have  learned  to  “ draw  it  mild,”  - 

3 


34 


MODERN  BENEVOLENCE: 


Declare  that  topers,  it  is  clearly  found, 

Drink  deeper  now — some  ten  feet  under  ground.) 
What  though  the  law  has  made  the  trade  less 
brisk, 

Adulteration  pays  for  every  risk. 

The  more  we  drink  the  more  exceeding  high 
The  price  of  rum,  and  poor  men  cannot  buy  ; 

Topers  declare,  with  dark,  despairing  frown, 

Prices  go  up  as  brandy  slings  go  down. 

That  towns  make  money  it  must  be  confessed, 

While  agents  pay  into  the  corporate  chest 
One  third  their  profits,  and  retain  the  rest, 

And  States’  attorneys,  with  unsparing  hand, 

Force  all  creation  to  the  witness  stand. 

And  there  compel  good  citizens  to  swear 
When  last  they  drank,  how  much,  and  what,  and 
where, 

Leaving  the  town  to  remedy  the  ill, 

And,  like  the  jury,  to  discharge  the  bill. 

Ah  ! when  will  Justice  visit  earth  again, 

And  Truth  imperial  resume  her  reign  ? 


A SATIRE. 


S5 

When  from  man’s  spirit  shall  the  veil  he  torn, 

And  Falsehood’s  mantle  be  no  longer  worn? 

Most  good  results,  not  from  the  lordliest  aims. 

The  humbler  deed  the  greater  honor  claims  : 

Who  gives  a penny  from  a bounteous  store, 

To  feed  the  orphan  or  the  starving  poor. 

Gives  more  than  Dives,  who  bequeaths  his  all 
To  found  a college  or  a hospital. 

We  freely  give,  through  fear  of  fortune’s  frown, 

But  give  more  freely  for  our  own  renown. 

Of  all  our  charity  we  loudly  boast. 

But  scorn  the  objects  that  deserve  it  most. 

Did  man  but  make  his  brother’s  griefs  his 
own. 

And  cherish  Virtue  for  herself  alone. 

Then  to  our  aid  no  grating  law  need  come 
To  fetter  Vice,  or  check  the  sale  of  rum.  • 

Did  men  but  do  their  duty,  as  is  meet, 

By  all  the  ragged  beggars  in  the  street. 

Then  were  no  need  of  charitable  cares, 

Of  missions,  hospitals,  and  fancy  fairs, 


MODERN*  BENEVOLENCE: 


All  wilLbe  right!  God’s  purpose,. ever  sure, 
Permits  the  evil,  and  effects  the  cure. 

Afar,  in  Fancy’s  realm,  methinks  I see 
A golden  time,  in  ages  yet  to  he, 

When  Truth  shall  stand  in  royal  garh  arrayed, 

And  Vice  shall  grovel  in  eternal  shade  : 

I see  no  ^veak  one  fawning  on  the  great. 

No  starving  heggar  at  the  palace  gate, 

No  tyrant  hand,  harsh,  cruel,  and  unjust, 

Crushing  God’s  image  downward  to  the  dust — 

But  floods  of  light,  earth’s  myriads  to  hless, 

Stream  from  the  Sun  of  Peace  and  Righteousness, 
Flash"  round  the  world,  one  heltnf  golden  sheen. 
Lighting  the  corners  where  the  shades  have  been  ; 
While  Error’s  han-dogs,  dazzled  by  the  glare. 

Slink  to  their  caves  of  darkness  and  despair : 

Earth  claps  her  hands  and  laughs,  as  in  her  days 
Of  spring-time  freshness,  when  with  notes  of  praise 
The  morning  stars  together  gayly  sang. 

And  heaven’s  high  vault  with  angel  pseans  rang. 

Anon,  before  my  soul’s  prophetic  eye,  

A towering  form  uprises  to  the  sky, 


A SATIRE. 


37 


Rears  her  meek  head  above  the  stars  of  night, 
Crowned  with  a halo  of  celestial  light, 

While  round  her  form  a warm  effulgence  plays, 

Soft  as  the  tints  of  autumn’s  dying  days, 

Holy  and  chaste,  descending  from  above — 

The  light  serene  of  universal  love ! 

Proudly  she  stands  on  Time’s  descending  slope, 
Faith  on  the  one  side,  on  the  other  Hope, 

The  greatest  of  the  three  : her  beaming  smiles 
Cheer  the  sad  hearts  in  earth’s  remotest  isles ; 

Her  arms,  outstretching,  fill  the  void  of  space, 
Clasping  all  nations  in  a fond  embrace. 

What  form  is  this,  beneath  whose  gentle  sway 
All  peoples  bend,  and  worship,  and  obey  ? 

E’en  while  I ponder,  to  my  listening  ear 
Comes  a soft  whisper,  passing  sweet  and  clear  : 

’Tis  she  whose  hands  most  happiness  dispense, 

The  suffering  heart’s  best  comfort  and  defence, 
Earth’s  queen  and  Heaven’s — the  true  Benevolence. 


UNiV£H8rTY0FILUN0»-U 


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